


It's Just Us

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Cured Dean, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, First Time, M/M, Reunion Fic, Top Dean, s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the turmoil that comes with being a demon and almost killing your brother, Sam and Dean are finally human and safe. They decide to talk things out and have an actual heart to heart for the first time in years, which ends up with other emotions being brought out into the open. Something they both thought was unrequited turns out to be mutual, and Sam and Dean spend their first night back together in Dean's bed. Loudly. Starts out very emotional and raw and ends up downright sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Us

Dean had been lounging on his bed, his eyes closed, ankles crossed, and head tilted back, when Sam had quietly slipped in, dropping a bag full of food from Dean’s favorite local burger place. He’d mumbled something about Dean not eating for a long time, apologized for nothing, and slipped back out through the door, which was only open a fraction.

Sam was a lot skinnier and beaten down than the last time Dean had seen him human, and it was like seeing him again for the first time. This Sam looked at him with recent grief weighing him down, with widening eyes that said  _It’s actually him_  before they slid to the floor and Sam would scurry out before Dean could ask him to stay. Dean felt guilty- which felt new, even though it wasn’t- that he had all this food on his lap. He should be giving some to Sam. Sitting next to him in the bunker’s kitchen and trading small sentences, building up a trust.

But he couldn’t get himself to move. It was like all the really human emotions, the ones that actually meant anything, had built up when he was a demon and now the dam was broken. There was an ache inside him that he didn’t know how to heal. Every once in a while his mind would wander and he’d remember one more thing, one more terrible action against someone or even worse, against  _Sam_  and the pressure on his chest would build. After a few stretching minutes he finally dug into the bag, and forgot about his tsunami of worries when he took the first bite of the burger, extra onions. He looked to the roof and thanked Sam, not God, digging in, grateful for the distraction.

After that it was obvious he had to do something or Sam would keep slipping through his fingers, keep slimming and fading away to nothing. These past few weeks for him had been nothing but punches to the gut, words and actions meant to cut. Dean ran a hand through his hair- he would get Sam to cut it later- and stood up arthritically, stretching and cracking his back. He looked around his room, at the pictures on his nightstand, and chided himself for procrastinating. This was Sam. There was only one thing Dean could do, wanted to do, and that was be with his brother. He stepped into the hallway and looked into Sam’s bedroom— empty and still devoid of personal effects. Dean’s room had looked exactly as he’d left it but he had an unwavering suspicion Sam had spent his time in it. Dean strode through the hallway into the main room and there was Sam, sitting at one of the tables and sipping from a beer. Three empty bottles surrounded him. His phone was in his hand, but he was motionless.

“Hey,” Dean called, clearing his throat and heading over to Sam. Sam started slightly, sitting up straighter and craning his neck to watch Dean approach. He smiled for Dean’s benefit and it was watered down and half-hearted.

“Hey,” he parroted as Dean slumped down into the chair beside him. Dean took his beer from between his fingers and put it out of arm’s reach, and all he did was look down and shake his head slightly. He didn’t fight for it or say the classic  _I’m fine, Dean,_  and Dean’s concern shot up through the ceiling.

Dean got angry with himself when he tried to think of lighter topics to bring up, tiny evasions like  _soon my hair will be longer than yours, Sammy,_  and decided to get right into the heart of things. They both needed it. Dean frowned, looking down at his hands and then over to Sam, who was watching him with barely-concealed wariness.

“How are you, Sam?” he finally managed, tugging his chair a little closer to Sam’s.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it. His eyebrows tugged together and he swallowed, looking down at his phone. He took it in his hand and pocketed it.

“You’d see right through me if I said I was fine, wouldn’t you?” he said after a pause.

Dean chuckled and smiled at Sam softly, his lips quirking up lopsidedly. “Like glass, kiddo,” he replied, and felt a slight lifting in his chest when Sam smiled back at him and it felt genuine.

Sam ducked his head before sitting sideways in his chair so their knees touched and they were face-to-face. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” he admitted.

Dean nodded once. “Understatement.”

“You were dead. And then you were gone. And then you were a demon. And then you sort of tried to kill me.”

Something was stuck in Dean’s throat and he swallowed to try to clear it. His hands were shaking minutely, and he was angry with himself again, and guilt-ridden, and scared shitless because  _God what if this broke us, what if I never get him back,_  and he was flushed hot with all these stupid fucking emotions and he was so grateful he could feel them.

“Bear with me here, Sam, but how does that make you feel?” he tried, and praised himself when his voice didn’t shake or waver.

Sam grinned again, closed-mouth, more like a twitch of his lips. “Shitty,” he started, laughing bitterly before sobering up and leaning closer, one of his knees knocking into the gap between Dean’s. He was hunched in on himself, so he looked up at Dean, his slinged-arm tucked against his chest and the other fidgeting nervously at his side. “I, uh… I’m sorry.”

Dean couldn’t stop his eyebrows from shooting to his hairline. “What for? I’m the one who should be saying that. So Sam, I’m sorry. I am  _so fucking sorry_.”

Sam’s eyes were shiny with moisture now and red around the edges and he ducked his head again— Dean wished he’d stop doing that and just look at him and spit it all out and they’d lean against each other, forehead to forehead, and somehow magically make everything okay. He also knew that wasn’t going to happen. “I almost killed you,” he choked out. “With the blood, and then with the knife… and… and then the things I did to get you back, and I wasted so much time, so I’m sorry I messed up like that. I messed up big time.” As Sam spoke, his voice got more fractured and pressured as it became harder for him to hold back tears and the thickness in his throat. His words got softer but more weighted, and his lip kept wobbling, and Dean just wanted to crush Sam into his arms and never let go, apply enough pressure to press Sam right into his heart and keep him there forever.

Dean took a risk and took Sam’s hands in both of his, leaning in and never breaking eye contact with his brother. “Listen to me,” he began slowly, rubbing a thumb over Sam’s knuckles, “You didn’t mess anything up, you hear me? That’s all on me and I’m sorry. You did so fucking much, Sam. I am so proud of you. You saved me, do you see that? I’m here because of you. And, for the record, all the shit I said in the dungeon, I said it all just to get to you. I knew where to hit hardest because I know  _you_. It was all bullshit. One-hundred percent. So if you’re believing any of that still, stop it. Stop it right now. You’re fine.”

Sam’s face had been progressively crumbling throughout his attempt at a meaningful speech, and now he lowered his head again, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

“Nuh-uhhh, don’t do that,” Dean said lowly, taking one of his hands from Sam’s and putting it on Sam’s chin. He raised Sam’s chin so they were eye to eye. His hand slid up to to Sam’s jawline and he pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face with his thumb. “Are we okay, Sam?” he asked carefully, his eyes flicking between Sam’s.

Sam bit his lip and a single tear fell down his cheek to Dean’s hand. He wiped it away. “I don’t know,” Sam choked out in a whisper. He shook his head, his hair flying in front of his face. “I don’t fucking know. God, I’m just so tired Dean, I just want it to be how it was. But… but I don’t think it can,” he smiled weakly up at Dean, eyes glistening.

Now they were both losing strength, throats clogged and eyes teary. “We always can,” Dean urged him, unconsciously stroking his cheek. Sam closed his eyes and breathed in. “I want us to. I want us to be brothers again. I feel like it’s been forever since we actually— but we can. I promise. We gotta try.”

Sam kept his eyes closed and nodded against Dean’s hand. “Okay,” he sighed, “Okay.”

Dean laughed before he could stop himself. He shook his head at Sam’s questioning gaze. “I just-” he stopped short, dropping one of Sam’s hands to fully frame his face, pressing their foreheads together. “I feel like I haven’t existed in months,” he croaked. “Everything I did— everyone I hurt, it just hurts all at once and I can’t stop it.”

Sam put his hands on Dean’s wrists, keeping Dean’s hands secured around his face. They stayed pressed against each other for several moments, breathing in sync and grounding each other, the shakes mutually receding from their bodies and the lumps from their throats. “You’re here now,” Sam said simply, “And you’re allowed to feel sad. And shitty. And awful. I’m not expecting you to just bounce back from this, okay? That’s fine.”

“That’s good advice,” Dean told him pointedly. He felt more than saw Sam smile, the muscles quirking up under his palms.

Dean thought to himself, _fuck it, I deserve this,_  and angled his face a little higher up, nuzzling his nose against Sam’s before wrapping his arms around his little brother, tugging him into an awkward, tight hug and mushing his face against Sam’s until his nose was pressed into the spot where Sam’s shoulder met his neck. Sam made a little sighing noise of pleasure and instantly wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, his hands curling into fists around the material of his shirt.

Without warning, Sam was crying in earnest, with big, heaving sobs and cut off moans. His entire body was shaking and rattling like a too-old car without enough fuel, and Dean knew with clarity that Sam was at the end of his fucking rope. He knew the feeling intimately. “ _Heyyy_ , hey, it’s okay,” he soothed Sam, bringing one hand up to support the back of Sam’s head. He shut his eyes tightly against Sam’s skin. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he mumbled, voice muffled by Sam’s shoulder, and kept going,  saying little comforting nothings he had memorized from times Sam had fallen and scraped his knee or had a nightmare.

Sam’s arms kept curling tighter around him, like a python with its prey, but Dean didn’t mind. He was crying too, just not as loudly. He’d be damned if he was gonna let go right now, even if it killed him.

After an indiscernible time, Sam’s cries receded, like waves at low tide, and Dean’s shoulder was soaked. Sam pulled back haltingly, blushing pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean for it to get that bad,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Dean responded easily, “I feel a lot better now, actually.”

Sam laughed shortly, and something had changed between them, for the better. Dean found he couldn’t stop looking at Sam, and noticed it was mutual.

“I just can’t believe we’re both okay right now,” Sam explained, reading his mind, as usual.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but something changed minutely when Sam tilted his head, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Sam’s hair was ruffled and messy in just the right way, and it was so  _real_ , and it struck a chord in Dean for some stupid reason. He was like a baby learning to walk but with normal emotions. It hit him so hard, and rang so true, and he was lost in the feeling of being fucking  _human_. Not only that, but he was currently lost in Sam’s eyes. He usually hated cheesy cliches but there was no other way to explain it, Sam just naturally drew him in. Sam didn’t even realize it. Sam being alive, Sam being Sam, made Dean’s heart swell to ten times its size.

Sam was smiling softly at him, dimples peeking out of his tear-stained cheeks, not saying anything, and not realizing that neither of them had spoken in well over a minute. Dean ran a hand through Sam’s hair, once, twice, and he simultaneously hated and loved that he was getting overwhelmed again, the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. “Sam,” he whispered, and tugged Sam’s head toward him. “Sam.”

Sam looked puzzled and confused, a stupidly adorable combination on him, his brow furrowing and mouth tugging downward ever so slightly. Dean could only enjoy the sight for a brief moment as he was still tugging Sam closer until their lips bumped against one another and he took Sam’s bottom lip with his teeth, urging Sam’s mouth open and kissing him deeply.

He didn’t know why he’d done it. It just seemed the next logical progression, Sam was so beautiful when he was alive, and Dean was finally alive, too, and well, wasn’t that a coincidence. He didn’t know how long he’d felt like this about Sam. It seemed like forever. Right now he felt everything for Sam, and he couldn’t restrain himself.  _It was just Sam_ , his brain offered up. _Sam’s always been your endgame, idiot._

He pulled away after realizing Sam had frozen. His heart was hammering in his chest. He looked over at Sam’s eyes and Sam was watching him oddly, unreadably. His expression didn’t seem disgusted or negative or hateful, though, which was a positive. “Um.” Dean cleared his throat. “Hundred dollar bill for your thoughts.”

Sam blinked.

He blinked a second time.

Dean realized he was counting and looked away. He stood up, his chair screeching in protest, and wiped a hand down his face. He needed some air. More than that, he needed Sam to goddamn say something. It was killing him in a slow-to-burn kind of way. Either that or he’d explode— it was too early to tell.

“You piece of shit,” Sam eventually said, standing up slowly to face Dean.

Dean looked at him. Sam didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked mildly amused, maybe a touch exasperated. Sam tilted his chin up and stared him down.

“What?” Dean asked dumbly. His heart hadn’t calmed down by even a fraction, and he was beginning to grow concerned that it would jump out of his chest and disappear.

“I have been stupidly head over heels with you since day one,” Sam started slowly, holding up a finger when Dean opened his mouth, “and I always thought I was this off, disgusting thing. I mean, who falls in love with their brother? That’s not— so I’ve been hiding this Thing inside me for years, for a millennia, and then, what? You just kiss me? Easy as that? Like nothing?”

Dean almost choked on his own spit.

“…Sam… I’m the same. I’m exactly the fucking same. Why didn’t we ever— why couldn’t we see it? Why were we so blind?”

Sam stepped closer. “Are you being honest with me right now?”

Dean put a hand over his heart and met Sam’s gaze. “One-hundred percent,” he vowed.

Sam deliberated that for a moment, biting his lip and staring past Dean’s shoulder. He nodded once and shrugged before turning back to Dean. He took Dean’s shoulder in his hand and Dean took the hint, leaning back in again and gingerly kissing Sam, being rewarded with Sam willingly opening up his mouth and letting Dean control and deepen the kiss.

Dean’s hands went back up to Sam’s face on instinct, tilting Sam’s face gently and holding it in place as he licked into Sam’s mouth, humming in pleasure when Sam whined underneath the kiss. Sam’s arms blindly found his waist and pulled them flush against each other, chest-to-chest. They parted for breath before diving back in, shamelessly making out with each other like teenagers. Dean had never kissed lips so soft as Sam’s.

Without warning, Sam’s hands snaked between them to Dean’s chest and pulled him away, Dean reluctantly parting from Sam’s bottom lip with a small wet sound. Sam hit their foreheads together a little forcefully, breathing hard. He licked his lips. They were shiny with Dean’s saliva and bright right. “I just-” Sam gasped, “It’s a lot to take in at once. It’s  _you_.”

“And you,” Dean added, grinning. “And thank God for that.”

Sam laughed and pressed their lips together while he was still smiling, his hands fumbling around Dean’s back, just feeling him all over and kissing him excitedly.

Dean pulled apart, chuckling. A thin strand of spit connected their lips. “You’re like a dog,” he said. “So happy to see me,”

“Shut up,” Sam replied without heat and kissed Dean again, backing them up until Dean bumped into one of the brick pillars.

Dean was content to be pressed there by his baby brother forever- this was like his number one fantasy- but he could feel Sam’s erection pressing into his thigh and Sam had begun to slowly, shallowly grind against him, and his breaths had gotten heavier.

Dean’s own dick hardened in interest. The bricks were starting to dig uncomfortably into his shoulderblades. “Sam,” he panted against Sam’s lips, “If you want to…? We don’t have to stay pressed up against this thing all day,”

“Oh.  _Oh._  Oh god,” Sam’s eyes widened and he backed off marginally, looking at Dean nervously. His cheeks began to flush deeper than they already were.

Dean reached down and squeezed Sam’s hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he reminded Sam, “We’ve got time. It’s just us.”

Sam looked at him, eyelids half-lowered and pupils blown, and kissed him once again, more tenderly this time, sucking on Dean’s bottom lip. He kept grinding against Dean, slowly, moving his body like a vertical wave, and Dean threw his head back against the bricks and moaned, closing his eyes tight. He felt as if he were being pulled in two directions— on one hand, he wanted to take this thing between him and Sam slowly, to learn each other, and on the other hand, he was hard and Sam was hard and it turns out they loved each other, and why not love Sam?

Sam bent his head down and bit Dean’s collarbone, sucking on the bruise. He was still moving his hips against Dean, dragging his cock against Dean’s painfully slowly through their jeans. “I want to,” he breathed, exhale warm against Dean’s sensitive, bitten skin. “I want to if you do,”

Dean moaned again, but this time out of conflict. As if Sam’s hair were his safety blanket, he reached up and threaded his fingers through it, splaying his fingers across the back of Sam’s skull and pressing him closer so Sam’s lips bumped into his shoulder. “You know I do,” he told Sam breathily, looking up at the bunker ceiling and frowning, “but… I mean, this is new for us. And we just got back, y’know? I wanna do it right.”

Sam nodded once, looking very serious. “Can’t we do it right, and do it right now? On your bed?”

Dean banged his head once against the bricks. “Okay, yes. Yes it is. That’s perfectly fine. Better than fine in fact. Just— just say the word if anything happens, okay?”

Sam’s face dropped into something a little more sincere, his eyes softening. He nodded and smiled encouragement at Dean. He stepped off of Dean, giving Dean some air, and held his hand out.

Dean stared at it. “You sap,” he joked, but  his voice was thick with emotion. He took Sam’s hand tenderly and they walked side-by-side, hand-in-hand, and Dean marveled how they’d come so far in so little time just by understanding each other. When he thought it through further, he wasn’t surprised. Even with the months of buffer between them, they still knew each other down to every nerve and bone, and that wouldn’t ever go away.

Dean felt very whole as they came upon the door to his room. He sent a thanks up to no one in general and opened the door. Sam trailed him in, and Dean went over to the desk. He opened the bottom drawer and shuffled through the back of it until he drew out what he was looking for. He turned to Sam and waggled the bottle and the condom. “We’re playing it safe or we’re not playing at all.”

“‘KY’, Dean?” Sam feigned judgement.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He set the contents of his hands on the bed. “Now!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together twice. “Undress for me.”

Dean watched the seed of doubt grow in Sam’s eyes as Sam shifted from one foot to the other.

“You good, Sam? Is it the sling, should I be worried? Oh god, can we even-”

“No!” Sam broke in. “It’s almost fully healed, don’t even worry about that. I can just take it off. But, uhh… I’m not really…” Sam cleared his throat emphatically and looked around the room. His face was scrunched in concern and his cheeks were a bright pink. “I’m not super sexy. Is this supposed to be sexy? Um,”

Dean couldn’t stop a burst of laughter from bubbling out of him. Sam glared at him. He held his hands up, palms out. “Don’t worry, you’re plenty sexy,” he assured Sam lightheartedly, smiling warmly at him. “Plus, guess what? I have hands, so I can do the undressing for you.”

Before Sam could say anything, Dean stepped forward and kneeled at Sam’s feet, nuzzling Sam’s dick with his cheek. Sam made a noise of surprise and swore, holding himself still as a means not to hump the shit out of Dean’s face. Dean shushed him, not looking up, humming some Metallica song as he went to work on Sam’s belt, unbuckling it theatrically slowly and then sliding it out of the loops one by one.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Sam asked, his voice petulant but lower than usual, down to almost a growl. Dean’s dick twitched.

“Might be,” Dean replied simply. He threw the belt aside and unbuttoned Sam’s pants, unzipping them and dragging them painfully slowly to his ankles. Sam’s legs were too skinny and his admiration was backed by worry. After this he’d spoonfeed Sam whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he ate all of it. Sam stepped out of his pants and kicked them away. Dean looked up and saw the wet spot where the head of Sam’s dick rubbed up against the worn, thin boxers.  _Very_  thin. Gave him a good view.

It all became real in that moment, that this was Sam, his younger brother, and he was very hard and obviously very long and in his boxers and Dean was fucking kneeling in front of him with lube on the bed behind him.  _Jesus Christ_. All of his patience and self-constraint skipped town as his downstairs brain gained control. Growling like a dog, he dragged Sam’s boxers down to his feet and Sam kicked those away, too. Dean heard Sam throw his shirt and sling off as well, and then he was standing naked for Dean, just waiting.

Dean stood back up.

Sam was blushing still (did he ever stop?), but he was confident, apparently satisfied with what he possessed and awaiting Dean’s approval and/or jealousy. He angled his chin up and set his hands on his hips, looking down his nose at Dean. He smiled, one side of his mouth curving up higher than the other.

Dean rubbed himself through his jeans. He couldn’t help it. Sam was… even after being dragged through the mud, he looked so fucking good, and he was trying to look good for Dean and not feel inadequate and Dean thought he was brave for doing it, and extraordinarily hot. He was so fucking proud of Sam, and his massive dick.  _God._

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sam,” he rasped, eyes glinting. He scooted forward on his knees until he was only millimeters from Sam’s cock. Sam inhaled above him, his stomach pressing in and his dick jumping slightly.

“Take all your shit off,” Sam stuttered, yanking weakly at one shoulder of Dean’s shirt. Dean ignored him, putting a hand high on the inside of Sam’s thigh and rubbing. Sam whined. “C’mon, Dean. Please.”

Dean scoffed and backed away, throwing off his shirt in one moment and yanking his pants and boxers off, not even bothering with the belt. He wasn’t as long as Sam, by at least two inches, but he was thicker. Sam’s eyes widened and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His hand went down between his legs and he pulled on his cock once, then twice, moaning low in his throat. “I can’t believe you’re- we’re-  _shit_ ,” he breathed out slowly. Dean had been inching closer, fisting his own cock and slowly pumping, covering the crown with his thumb before sliding down to the base as he went. Without warning Sam, he nuzzled Sam’s dick with his face, angling his lips toward it and licking into the slit. He looked up at Sam and Sam groaned again, fumbling and putting his hands in Dean’s hair.

“Before, your hair wouldn’t’ve been long enough to pull on,” Sam pointed out, breathless. “But it is now.”

Dean hummed in agreement before swallowing down all of Sam’s dick, the head rubbing against the back of his throat, closing his lips around Sam’s length and slowly pulling out. Sam’s grip on his hair tightened and Sam gasped, but otherwise stayed silent. Dean put his hands on Sam’s thighs and started to suck him off in earnest, starting shallowly and licking the underside of Sam’s dick where he guessed a sensitive spot or a vein might be. He was proven right when Sam started to jaggedly fuck slightly into his mouth, clearly using all of his self control in the act. Dean dug his fingernails into the white of Sam’s thighs and slowly pulled all of Sam’s dick into his mouth and down his throat. Jesus christ, Sam was long, going down his throat and hollowing out his cheeks. He started bobbing with a steady rhythm, all the way in, all the way out, licking around the head.

Sam made another noise and pulled on Dean’s hair, but not towards himself, instead pulling Dean off. Dean looked up at him and cocked his head. He knew his face was a mess of spittle and precome.

“You can’t,” Sam managed. “I’m too close. I need you inside me.”

Dean froze. A pool of heat warmed low in his stomach as he looked up at his brother. “You sure?”

Sam nodded jerkily, breathing through his mouth. “Yeah. I want this. If… if you do,”

“Of course I do,” Dean started, “but I uh. Am now realizing I have never had gay sex and fucked another dude.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll guide you through it,” he assured Dean, walking shakily over to the bed and practically falling down onto it. He was jerking himself off slowly, almost as an afterthought, as he got onto his knees and crawled up the bed. Dean admired the view until Sam flipped over and spread himself out, and then he admired that view, too.

“You’ve had gay sex?” Dean asked disbelievingly.

Sam nodded, but he seemed embarrassed. “You don’t wanna hear about it.”

“Like hell I don’t!” Dean protested, walking over and taking the lube and condom in his hands again. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam as he spread the condom over his dick.

Sam’s eyes were at Dean’s dick as he started speaking. “Experimenting. In college. With, um, Brady. He was… I didn’t know. I dunno. And then um. It’s not the same but Hell, too.”

Dean nodded and made eye contact with Sam. “I get it,” he said. “You don’t have to talk about it. This time’s just between us, alright?”

Sam smiled and nodded back at him.

“Cool,” Dean said easily, and held up the KY bottle. “And what do I do with this?”

After a juddering explanation from Sam, Dean had slicked up his fingers and circled around Sam’s hole, pressing in. He’d worried about Sam being too tight and Sam had almost bitten his head off with swears and threats, so he’d kept going. The rings of muscle inside Sam loosened up and he now had three fingers inside him, fucking in and out quickly. Sam’s breathing matched his movements and he grabbed at the sheets and threw his head back.

Dean was sitting between Sam’s legs. Sam was so warm around his fingers. After awhile, he pulled his fingers out when Sam’s breathing got too shallow. They were both so close to coming,  and Dean hadn’t fucking even done anything yet. Positioning himself between Sam’s legs, he grabbed his dick and guided the head to Sam’s hole. Sam threw his legs up high around Dean’s waist as Dean pressed in.

Sam made a high whimpery sound that went straight to Dean’s dick and Dean put his arms around Sam’s back, half-hugging Sam to him as he pressed in deeper. Dean growled and bit Sam’s shoulder, almost drawing blood. He’d been right earlier. Sam was so tight, so fucking tight and so warm, better than any girl Dean had ever been with. Halfway inside Sam, he started fucking slowly and shallowly. Sam hissed once and Dean almost stopped but Sam had read his mind and threatened Dean with castration, so he willingly kept going.

It was a practice in enormous self-restraint, in all honesty. Dean wanted to fuck the shit out of Sam, to just shut his eyes and bury into him, but Sam was sensitive and tight and he needed to be worked open first.

“Sam….” Dean lost all coherency as he pressed a little deeper, their noses rubbing against each other. “So good…”

“Say it whole,” Sam gasped, pressing their lips together but not kissing him.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, amazed he’d strung the words together to form a proper sentence.

“Say my whole name,” Sam demanded, voice airy and impatient. “You haven’t said it all night.”

“Because he said it,” Dean argued, slowing slightly. “I was afraid… you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“I do,” Sam gasped, squeezing his legs tighter around Dean and forcing Dean deeper into him.

“Sammy….” Dean moaned lowly and Sam laughed once, grabbing Dean’s head and tugging him in for a kiss, opening up easily and willingly under Dean’s tongue. Dean lapped into Sam’s mouth and kissed him open-mouthed, feeling Sam’s moans rumble in his throat. He fucked deeper and deeper, his hips snapping faster and faster, and Sam started bucking up against him, sweaty and glistening and turning his head away from the kisses just to groan lowly in the sluttiest, best way possible.

Dean hit Sam’s prostate and there was an immediate reaction, Sam arching up off the bed and swear/moaning, a string of curses rolling off his tongue before he outright growled, closing his eyes. His hair was splayed across the pillow and a little pool of sweat had gathered between his collarbones. Dean licked it up, throwing caution to the wind and gathering Sam up in his arms, kissing as much love into him as he could and fucking him deep and fast, his bed going  _creak creak creak_  in time with his thrusts below them.

Sam shouted and clawed at his back, grinding up into Dean’s thrusts in tandem with Dean. “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean,” he panted, a mantra chanted out between kisses. Dean’s vision was fading. He couldn’t stop kissing Sam everywhere— mostly his mouth, but sometimes his nose, his chin, his shoulder, the spot where his neck met his ear.

The closer they both got, and the more irregular Dean’s hip-snaps became, the messier and louder Sam became, like Dean was fucking him apart, putting him into a disarray. Every push into Sam was flush against his hole now, his balls slapping loudly against the rim of Sam’s asshole.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, his voice four octaves higher than usual. “Fuck! Please, please, please, oh god, more, Dean,  _more_ ,”

“God… Sammy…” Dean moaned, biting Sam’s shoulder and fucking wildly into him, the bed shaking violently now. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

Now they were just calling each other’s names between moans and passionate kisses, holding on for dear life as Dean fucked Sam hard and good. Dean felt a tenseness in his balls and knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it. He kissed Sam on the mouth one more time as he came deep inside his brother, his vision practically whiting out as he let loose.

Sam’s voice went up again and he cried something incoherent, a weak, begging sound, and then he was coming too, his come warm against Dean’s tummy. He’d only touched himself once, when Dean was establishing a rhythm, then moved his arms around Dean.

He’d come untouched, Dean realized, biting off another moan. He kneeled over Sam, flush inside him, for a moment, the two of them breathing heavily and just watching each other, before slowly pulling out of Sam and  collapsing onto the bed beside him.

After a moment of gathering himself together, he got up and got a washcloth, wetting it in the sink beside the door before carefully cleaning Sam up, and then himself. He tossed the cloth and all of their clothes into the hamper and stripped the condom off, tying it and tossing it into the trash. He made Sam get under the covers and then climbed in after him. Sam immediately snuggled up against him, an arm reaching across his chest and a leg thrown across both of his. “Friggin’ octopus,” Dean groused, but he didn’t mean it, and Sam smiled into Dean’s skin, tracing little swirls and symbols into the space above Dean’s bellybutton.

“We’re cuddling naked,” Dean pointed out, the smile audible in his voice.

“Post-amazing sex,” Sam added,  and Dean chuckled. He bent his head down and possessively kissed the top of Sam’s head. Sam murmured something that sounded like a compliment and shifted, clinging tighter to Dean.

“I’m so glad I have you,” he whispered softly, nuzzling against the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Right back atcha, Sammy,” Dean told him warmly, stretching out under the soft sheets and sighing in contentment.

They laid together in a safe, comfortable silence. Sam’s skin was soft and heated from the sex against Dean’s.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam said, repeating his words from the dungeon, and Dean squeezed the arm he had around Sam tighter, pulling him close.

“God,” he said, his voice cracking, “is it good to be home,”

Sam laughed and kissed his shoulder, closing his eyes. The grin wouldn’t leave his face, no matter how tired he was. “We can do this,” he said, “We’ll be okay. With sex and cuddles and kissing, super okay.”

“Damn straight,” Dean agreed, his throat thick again.  _Damn_ , he thought,  _the things this kid can do to me._  He knew it was the same for Sam and felt a security that he hadn’t in years. “And tomorrow, I’m making you fuckin’ breakfast in bed. You know those stupid nutella banana pancakes you love? Loads of ‘em.”

Sam sat up and kissed him once, slowly, a hand fluttering up to cup Dean’s face. He pulled apart and looked at Dean with uncontained love, just love, pure and fucking simple, and Dean knew his face mirrored Sam’s. As it should.

“Don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Sam muttered against his skin when he’d settled down again.

“Shut up, you didn’t have to do anything you don’t already do. You’re perfect, bitch.”

Sam felt his eyes fill with water. He smiled. “Jerk,” he whispered, closing his eyes and listening to Dean hum one of his favorite Zeppelin songs,  _Traveling Riverside Blues_  he thought it might be, but he wasn’t sure. It was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep, feeling very real and very, very loved in Dean’s arms.


End file.
